Running
by DirectionallyChallengedKenshi
Summary: Try to keep up, or you'll be left behind.


OP: R

One Piece: Running

Summary: Try to keep up, or you'll be left behind.

Format: I don't know how long. Maybe a two-shot? And there is a reason I've only referred to the main character as 'He' or 'Him'.

Pairing: You'll see!

Rating: T for angst, a TON of language and minor gore.

Disclaimer: *insert incredible disclaimer*

A.N.: Yes, be prepared for an absolute TON TON TON of language. Well, a ton for me anyway. Maybe not for you, but I put a lot of swearing in this. Oh, well.

Enjoy?

Running

The man ran through the streets, rain lashing his face, the wind grabbing at his clothes. He dodged round corners, no longer paying attention to where he was going. Suddenly he stumbled, and gasped inaudibly as a fresh wound throbbed, causing blood to soak deeper into his shirt.

This night was SHIT.

He'd been expected to be back at the ship over ten hours ago, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't return until he'd rescued her.

Rescued that knowing bitch from that shitty crap-bastard of a villain.

Damn it, he was starting to sound like that damn fucking ero-cook.

Apart from the bitchy part.

Oh, well...

The one time he hadn't asked her to go with him to the town was the one time she was FUCKING taken HOSTAGE.

Figures.

He continued weaving in and out of streets, all sense of direction lost, running forwards purely on instinct. He eventually stopped, wiping sweat and raindrops from his forehead with the back of his hand. He cursed when he smudged the ink there.

Oh, shit.

The ink had been written by the woman herself, less than a day before. It was directions to the ship...

But then again, he wasn't going back to the fucking ship, was he?

Damn it, bitch.

She had to do this TODAY, didn't she?

He continued running, ignoring the blood soaking his side until he stumbled. He feet flew out from under him, skidding on the wet floor, and he landed solidly on his shoulder. He held his hands out, grazing them, but he didn't notice as he swore. He picked himself up, leaning heavily against a wall.

Cursing again, he peeled back his shirt hem to reveal a nasty, pulsing wound surrounded by dark purple bruises. Blood streamed out relentlessly, making his head feel light and fuzzy.

"I would... be fine..." he gasped. "... but the fucking... poison...!" He stopped, running a bloody and torn hand through his short green hair. "... Shit..."

Ignoring the pain and dizziness that washed over him when he stood straight, he ran on until he reached a square in the centre of the abandoned town.

He stood, gasping for breath as rain beat down upon him. He shielded his eyes, narrowing them against the biting winds.

He had bitten his tongue; the familiar coppery taste ran through his mouth.

Or was it his internal bleeding that he was tasting?

He didn't know anymore.

All he cared about was getting her back.

That damn bitch...

A woman walked into the clearing.

"Roronoa Zoro," she drawled.

His head whipped round.

She's not the bitch he's here to rescue, so he couldn't give less of a damn about who she is or why she's here.

He shrugged lightly, wincing when his shoulder movement dragged at his waist.

"Roronoa," she called again, in that lazy, bored-sounding voice.

He didn't bother looking.

A bullet embedded itself in the side of his neck with a dull thud.

He turned to her, eyes widened a fraction. She was smiling sweetly, holding a smoking gun.

Smoking...

She couldn't have shot a bullet. It would have been weighed down by the rain.

Something light and sharp to cut through the drops...

He reached up, tugging a small dart from his neck, looking up at her as he did so.

Then everything suddenly started spinning, sending him crashing to the ground.

He swore.

Fuck.

He tasted a fresh wave of blood, coughing onto the stone floor.

She smiled, her work done.

She walked away, heels clicking softly through the thundering noise of the rain.

Click...

Click...

Click...

As the sounds eventually faded, so did the man's consciousness.

. . .

He woke some time later, still on the tiled floor of the square.

At first, he didn't know where he was.

Then it hit him.

He had been looking for that bitch, and then he'd been shot by another bitch.

Now he was on the fucking floor of the fucking square, in the fucking town on that fucking island.

Fuck this island.

Fuck that bitch.

Fuck his life.

Why couldn't he just live his fucking life, without having to run off every few fucking minutes to rescue some other bitch?

When all they did was comment about shit behind his back.

Well, fuck them.

He heaved himself to his feet, groaning quietly as his neck throbbed.

Some poison was still in his veins, traveling; silent and deadly.

With every breath, he came closer to death.

Closer to failing his fucking crew.

Crew...

A crew?

Was it a crew?

It was a band of nine, including him.

It consisting of...

A fucked up rubber idiot.

A totally messed up witchy bitch.

A damn annoying shitty ero-cook.

A coward with a fucked up nose.

A bipolar reindeer with no control over his fucking emotion.

Another bitch.

A perverted cyborg.

A perverted skeleton musician.

And him.

A fucked up, fucking irritable, soaked through, bloody swordsman.

And he was fucking pissed.

So fucking done.

But he couldn't just leave.

They were all relying on him to get that bitch back.

I mean, with her powers, why hadn't she just managed to escape?

He had asked.

His 'crew' had just talked shit; something about 'Sea Prism Stone' or fucked up shit like that.

Fuck...

He sure had gotten himself into another fucking mess.

Now, here was the big question...

How does he fucking get out of it?

He sighed heavily, running a calloused hand through bloodied hair.

He was soaked, fucking soaked, and that made him pissed.

He should just be napping, not racing around after a mad bitch.

But it's not like he had a fucking choice.

He sighed again.

He began walking, being careful not to reopen his stab wound.

He also took regular breaks; leaning against a wall or house to stop the spinning in his head.

Eventually, he reached a battered warehouse.

By now, he had to stop every few seconds to spit the blood from his mouth onto the floor.

He reached the doors at a painfully slow pace, pulling the door open slowly.

His eyes widened.

Somehow, the bitch he was supposed to rescuing was sitting on a pile of bodies, calmly reading. She looked at him as he opened the door.

"Hello, kenshi-san. What are you doing here?" she smiled slightly.

"I WAS FUCKING HERE TO FUCKING RESCUE YOU!" he roared, making her blink in surprise.

"I'm sorry?"

"I WAS FUCKING SHOT FOR YOU!" he continued, ignoring her.

She stared at him.

She smiled.

"Oh, Zoro," she smiled, walking over to him.

"What?" he grumbled.

"You don't need to rescue me!"

"GODDAMN THE FUCKING SHIT-"

"But it's nice."

He stopped and full-out gaped at her.

"What?" he fell to one knee, weakness from the poison catching him off guard.

"Thank-you." Robin stepped forwards, crossing her arms, and caught him as he fell.

"Thank-you... for being here."


End file.
